


An Excuse To Breathe

by Cesare, helens78



Series: Hellfire (AU) [4]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Slavery, BDSM, Biting, Bruises, Collars, Dystopia, M/M, Mind Control, Telepathy, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-19
Updated: 2011-07-19
Packaged: 2017-10-21 13:31:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/225723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cesare/pseuds/Cesare, https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik's arrival at the Xavier Mansion isn't the smoothest, but between meeting Raven, Angel, Darwin and Hank, and having a room to himself for the night, he's in pretty good shape to see Charles again in the morning.  There's a small matter of a collar that needs seeing to; Erik has a feeling Charles is going to want to be involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Excuse To Breathe

The car moves slowly north; Erik doesn't need to be able to see the navigation display in the front seat in order to tell where they're going. He knows the city, knows the streets and buildings, knows every detail from all the preparation it took to get into the Hellfire Club in the first place.

It occurs to him that if things don't work out with Charles, if it comes to infiltrating the place again and extracting information in a somewhat more messy manner, at least no one will be on alert for him. No one will expect to see him again, if they remember his face at all.

As they left the club, as they simply walked out the door to their freedom, the guards stared right at them without appearing to see them. If Charles says he's fogged their memories, Erik believes that much is true.

Charles's hand slips away from his face, and he tips his head back. Erik raises an eyebrow, watching him; he seems tired and possibly hurting, a headache perhaps, but not distressed. There's a price for what he does; Erik makes a note of it.

Further and further, Charles's driver navigating smoothly through traffic. More than his driver, Erik suspects; a mere employee wouldn't last long if he were constantly calling his boss an idiot. But the man's tirade was bitten off as quickly as Charles slumped, and while Erik catches his eyes flashing in the rearview mirror, he's said nothing else.

Next to the driver, a dark-haired young woman looks back at them curiously. She frowns at Charles, but her expression relaxes a little when she shifts her attention to Erik. The driver is surly, but apparently this woman doesn't suspect him of anything untoward, at least so far. Or she's better at hiding it.

As they round a corner, Charles slides into Erik, head rolling against Erik's shoulder. Erik stares down at Charles for a moment, wondering what in hell Charles wants now, but it turns out Charles probably doesn't want anything; from what Erik can tell, based on the slack face and the slightly open mouth, Charles has actually fallen asleep.

Sleeping. On Erik. That does show a certain amount of trust, or arrogance. Erik could take one of Charles's cufflinks, drill it through his skull, do the same for the driver and the woman before any of them had a clue what hit them.

But there's no telling how many people Charles reached with his mind before he keeled over, no way to ascertain how many of them know his name and his face. _This is going to be a problem,_ he thinks. _The telepath and all his secrets, including whether or not he knows mine. What was I thinking?_

He looks up at the driver again. The driver's eyes smolder, flash a brief gold before settling back to hazel. A mutant? It's a small mutation, it could even be considered attractive, but the humans don't differentiate these days. "He's asleep?" the driver asks. His voice is higher than Erik would have expected.

"So it would seem." Erik looks at Charles again. His eyelashes are dark on his cheek; his face seems younger now that he's unconscious. It's strange to be realizing only now that he might just find Charles attractive, not in the sense of being certain he can get through an encounter with him at the club without losing his hard-on, but in the sense of wanting to look at him, enjoying it.

Sentiment has never been of positive value in Erik's life. He exhales sharply and looks ahead again, glimpsing the driver's eyes in the rearview mirror one more time. It's possible he's mistaken, but the angry look on the driver's face seems meant for him now.

"Yes?"

Nothing for a while, not that Erik expected much. Finally, at the next stop light, the driver taps at the steering wheel and says, "I just wondered what you wanted out of him that made him think he couldn't trust us."

 _Couldn't trust..._ Erik stills his face, thinks that over. Charles had to stop when they were getting dressed, check in with his team; what did Erik miss, what was Charles supposed to have been doing instead? What was different this time? If he had a baseline for Charles's usual activities-- but he does, almost; Charles said he was known around the club as a voyeur, and Erik had to expend a good deal of effort convincing Charles to fuck him.

He eyes the driver. There's no way to gauge height, not in the car, but he's built, tan, looks healthy. He's hardly the most attractive man Erik's laid eyes on in the last week, fairly forgettable, really, but he's an integral part of Charles's team, the person who gets Charles out when a mission's complete. And perhaps the anger radiating off him is because Charles did something unexpected, or perhaps there's more to it than that.

Erik considers it, looks the driver over as best he can. "If I'm encroaching on your territory..."

"My _territory?"_ The driver frowns; his eyes flash to Erik's in the mirror once again, both gold this time. "What--"

"He was supposed to stay in contact with you throughout the evening," Erik puts forward. It's a guess, but from the way the driver's lips go tight and thin, Erik imagines it's a good guess. "You lost touch with him for--" There were no clocks in his room, of course, but Erik kept time by reaching out for the antique grandfather clock near the front stairs. He totals up the minutes in his head. "Something like three-quarters of an hour."

The young woman's eyebrows lift; she looks from Erik to the driver expectantly.

The driver's eyes keep flitting back to him, as if waiting for him to go on. Eventually, Erik decides it's best to have things out in the open, better for things to be clear.

"He did say he doesn't often sleep with the mutants he brings out of that place." Erik raises an eyebrow. "So I assume from your reaction that was true, and I'm one of the first."

"Jesus," the driver groans; he slaps his forehead with one hand, though it doesn't interrupt his driving. "Charles, you are a fucking, fucking, _fucking_ idiot--"

"Should I wake him up so he can hear that?"

"Don't even think about it," the driver snarls. "You leave him alone. And don't get cute; you're wasting your time on me." The driver's lips curl up into a sneer. " _I_ don't think with my dick."

"Then maybe you should stop playing games and tell me where I stand with you," Erik snaps. "I had a reason for being precisely where I was, and your lover comes in with his grand plans of saving me from the perverted fantasies of humankind and I'm left with no strategy and no cover and nowhere to turn but to people he _claims_ are going to be my allies. Only apparently he's fucked up the 'allies' bit by neglecting to anticipate that his lover has a jealous streak, so perhaps he isn't as smart as he thinks he is, and shouldn't have fucked me blind while he was out of contact with you."

The woman makes a startled noise and quickly covers her mouth; the driver starts to speak a few times, fragments of aborted words not making it past his throat. Finally, he shakes his head, and says, "You don't know what you're talking about."

"I know one thing." Erik's right arm is starting to fall asleep from Charles's weight on it; he shifts, carefully, stretching his arm across the back of the seat. Charles curls in tighter, head on Erik's chest now. Erik doesn't push his luck with the driver by wrapping his arm around Charles's shoulders, although the way Charles's eyebrows draw together leaves him tempted, just a little.

"You know jack shit," the driver mutters.

"I know you don't have whatever mutant gift it would take to launch me out of the sunroof in this ridiculously expensive car," Erik says, but it's hard to be as sarcastic with it as he felt a moment ago. Maybe Charles's sleep is peaceful, and it's rubbing off on him.

In either event, the driver goes back to his stony silence, and Erik decides it's not worth trying to think any more about what he's done and where he is; he'll be better off here or he won't, and either way, he knows where Shaw is going to be. That's all that matters.

*

Raven has spent a lot of time being mad as hell at Charles Xavier. She's been mad at him for taking risks and mad at him for playing it too safe, for interfering too much in her life and for neglecting her, for leaving up the toilet seat in all three of the bathrooms adjoining their suites, for finishing off her ice cream without asking.

She's not sure she's ever been as furious with him as she is right now, though. It's not bad enough that he's always insisted on doing these Hellfire Club ops on his own, not enough that he blithely told them that he sensed a powerful free mutant in the Club and _still_ went alone. Not enough that he dropped contact with Angel while he was inside the Club, leaving them frantic and helpless for almost an hour with no way of knowing if he'd been captured, collared, tortured, killed-- it wasn't even bad enough that apparently Charles left them hanging like that just so he could screw the guy before getting him out of there.

Of course he didn't _just_ do all that crazy-making shit, he did all that and then he fucking _conked out,_ leaving Raven and Angel to deal with all his bullshit while he snoozes on his new fuckbuddy's shoulder.

And of course, the guy looks smug, and dangerous, and exactly like the last guy she ever wants her brother getting involved with. Charles hops in and out of bed with people pretty easily; Raven tries not to pay attention or comment, so that Charles is forced by his weird sense of fair play to give her the same kind of space.

But the only other time he slept with someone at the Hellfire Club-- at least, the only other time that she knows about-- it was a big deal, and he was kind of fucked up about it, though that didn't stop him from continuing to sleep with Amelia until she joined another resistance cell that needed a teleporter.

Raven hopes they can unload this guy in a hurry too. His body language is coiled and controlled, his face is locked up tight, they have no idea what he's capable of and her brother is back there asleep and defenseless right next to him. Every time Raven looks in the rearview her eyes are going yellow because she's so pissed she can't help breaking form. It's always her eyes that go first.

"Okay," Raven says instead of just flat out screaming. "What you're going to tell me is: what the fuck did Charles do in there when he broke contact with us? And you're going to leave out all the parts involving dicks, because I don't want to hear it."

"He convinced me to leave with him," the guy says evenly. "I'm afraid if you want any more detail, you'll have to put up with the parts involving dicks."

Out of the corner of her eye, Raven sees Angel biting her lip trying not to laugh, and then schooling herself, composing her face, a hint of sadness stealing into her expression.

Raven feels like an asshole at that. She's angry and she's upset, and this guy pings her as scary and it's freaking her out that Charles is unconscious beside him, that Charles took these risks and did something that totally knocked him out and they don't even know what.

But this guy did just get out of one of the worst places a mutant can end up, and who knows what he went through; he looks steely, but they really could have screwed him up in there.

Only... Charles said this guy could use his powers, so half a second after deciding to back off, Raven finds herself saying, "Charles sensed that the suppression collar doesn't work on you. What can you do?"

"I have some talents with metal."

"Talents. Like?"

"I can make a coin turn up whatever I like."

He's not lying, Raven doesn't need Charles to tell her that. Raven's mutant ability lets her alter her appearance, but to really mimic a person, she has to do a lot more than just change her shape and skin. She has to get the body language right, the facial expressions, the little quirks and habits. Charles skips past all that stuff and goes straight for the brain, but Raven knows the body.

The man in the backseat doesn't shift, his voice doesn't change pitch, he doesn't try to smile or frown to cover nervousness. He can't be telling the whole truth, but it is true.

And she did just resolve to cut him a break. So even though she's thinking _Right, because that's clearly useful enough for Charles to cut us off and make him think it's a good idea to fuck your brains out,_ she doesn't say it. She wrings the steering wheel between her hands and thinks it really hard, but she keeps her mouth shut.

They're all quiet for a minute or two.

Angel loosens her safety belt so she can turn around and see the backseat without craning, and smiles.

"I'm Angel," she says. "And that's Raven. It's going to take us about an hour to get back to base. Do you need anything?"

"Do I need--?" The guy looks at her, too guarded to even show that he's being cagey. He says with almost brusque neutrality, "I'm not sure what you're asking me."

"Water, food, medical attention… anything that can't wait an hour?" Angel asks seriously. "We have some time."

"I-- no. No. I'm not--" the guy catches himself and starts over. "He found me in better condition than that."

"I had a few staples in me when I got out," Angel offers.

The guy looks a little more carefully at her, and nods. Raven can't study him as closely as she'd like while she's driving, but the little muscles between his eyebrows and around his mouth relax a bit: recognition, maybe a hint of relief. "Nothing that severe."

"Nothing that shows," says Angel, no question in it, no pity, just facts. She turns in her seat a little more, her attention on Charles now. "He's done this before. It's not easy, but it doesn't usually take this much out of him. Did you have any trouble on the way out?"

"Not that I could tell. We barely ran into anyone at all." Truth, still.

"Do you know if anyone in there had taken any special note of you? He might have run into trouble when he was making them forget you."

"No one who was there tonight, and if any of my--" the guy shows a little discomfort for the first time, hesitation breaking up the word, "clients-- had a particular interest in me, I know nothing about it." He shifts, and Charles tips forward, his head lolling, a sleepy little grumble slipping out of him. The guy catches him and tugs him back where he was, and leaves his hand on Charles's shoulder to keep him from tilting again.

The churning in Raven's stomach eases up a little.

"Okay," says Angel. "And he's pretty well out. I guess we're just going to have to wait and ask him when he wakes up." From her tone, it's the mildest of warnings to the guy that the truth will come out soon, and a little bit of an admonition to Raven to be patient. Patience is just so much more Charles's thing.

The guy makes a noise of acknowledgment and says, like it just occurred to him that he should: "Thank you for your help."

"You're welcome; what's your name?"

It's only after Angel asks him that Raven remembers, wait, they already know it. Charles gave it to Angel, and Angel remarked on it out loud. She thought it was funny that he could even sense the odd spelling. It's Erik, with a k. Raven was so out of her mind for that missing hour that she totally forgot.

And Angel's smart not to give away that she was linked to Charles for that. The less Erik knows about them, the better.

He says, "Erik Lehnsherr."

"Hi." Angel smiles at him. She indicates Raven with a tilt of her head and gives a quick eyeroll, conspiratorial, inviting Erik to ignore Raven's irritation. It seems to work. Tiny muscles around Erik's eyes ease a little.

He says almost pleasantly, "Hello."

*

Charles's mental touch comes whispering over Darwin's mind, _finally_. Darwin glances up at the clock and heads for Hank's lab. Hank looks up as soon as Darwin gets there; the unsurprised expression on his face clues Darwin in that Hank got the message, too.

"Hour or so," Darwin says. "I guess everything went okay."

Hank nods, but Hank's not the one who got the text message from Angel when Charles went out of contact. It was right there in Darwin's hand-- _Prof cut us off. Says he's OK. Will keep you posted._ \-- and the sick knot of worry in the pit of Darwin's stomach didn't ease until Angel texted him with _Big brain back online. Mystique's spitting nails._

Charles is usually better about this. Darwin wasn't around the last time he went out of touch at the Hellfire Club, but he's heard the stories, and he knows that's why Charles always insists on keeping a link to someone on the outside the whole time he's in the club. Angel considers it a point of pride that Charles picks her to be his anchor. For all the shit Darwin's been through since the authorities figured out what his powers are, what he can do, he's glad he doesn't have to keep an eye on Charles in that place, to see what Charles sees there and know minute by minute just how easily it could all go wrong. Sometimes he thinks Angel's made out of sterner stuff than everybody else in the mansion put together.

"I'm going to walk around, make sure everybody's lights-out," Darwin says. "You gonna be right here when they get in?"

"Yeah, I've just got a--" Hank looks down at his microscope. "Just in the middle of something. But I'll get my tools together so I can take his collar off when they get in."

"Okay."

The halls are quiet, this time of night; in the kids' wing, there are a couple of kids hanging out in the attic theater. They're watching some gory horror flick, but they've got the sound turned low, and the theater's far enough away from the other kids' bedrooms that it shouldn't matter. At least they're already in their PJs. "You guys don't stay up too late, okay?" Darwin says. "This is your last movie."

"Aw, _Darwin_ \--" Suzie bats her little ten-year-old eyelashes at him while Gabe, eight years old and known for following Suzie around like a puppy, just sits there looking hopeful.

"No no no, do not use that 'aw, Darwin' stuff on me, you know it doesn't work that way," Darwin says, but he can't help grinning. "Last one, and then it's bed. You guys yawn your way through breakfast, I _will_ find out, and I'm gonna know you didn't listen to me. Understand?"

Suzie attempts a pout, which just makes her look even younger. Darwin is unmoved, though he's still smiling at her. "O- _kay_ ," Suzie says. "But we get to rewind it, you interrupted--"

Darwin raises both hands and laughs, giving ground. "Rewind it, then, but just to the part where I walked in."

Suzie takes the remote control and takes the DVD back-- a full five minutes, she's pushing it, but Darwin lets it slide-- then pauses it on a lovely little still image of some big puffy monster the size of a building lifting his foot to stomp on something. It's a little bit absurd, even through all the gore, but the gore doesn't really worry Darwin. After what Suzie and Gabe have been through, after what everybody in this mansion has been through, a little movie blood doesn't mean much. At least Charles has the good sense to keep all the anti-mutant horror movies out of the house.

Taking off, Darwin does a quick check around the rest of the mansion and finds a spare bedroom for the new guy; he's betting Charles didn't really think that far ahead. He turns the bed down-- _full service for every refugee_ , he thinks, amused and kind of wishing he had a mint to put on the pillow-- and makes sure there are towels in the bathroom, soap, shampoo. There won't be clothes yet, but somebody around here's probably got something that can fit him. Darwin can wait and see how big the guy is, pull clothes out of storage if need be. Tomorrow they'll send someone out to do some shopping-- probably Darwin himself, it's his turn. There are worse things than going clothes shopping with Charles Xavier's money.

But that all depends on whether or not this guy sticks. The fact that Charles went out of contact to get him, that's a big deal. Angel's texts weren't panicked or anything, but Angel keeps her cool in situations like that.

Darwin wonders sometimes if Charles realizes that he's holding onto lit sticks of dynamite with some of the people he busts out of labs and prisons and brothels, but if anything's ever penetrated Charles's sense of invincibility, Darwin hasn't seen it yet.

Everything's in order. Nothing left to do but hang in there and hope for the best. Darwin finds a book, heads downstairs to the library, and waits.

*

When it's quiet like this, Darwin's senses turn super-sharp, above and beyond any normal human's. It makes him good at playing lookout, and it means when Raven and Angel and Charles and the new guy reach the side door, where the path to the garage meets the house, Darwin's off his feet and heading to the intercom in an instant.

"Hank? They're back."

"On my way," Hank says, and a few minutes later he's there, waiting with Darwin when the others come in.

Charles looks-- bad. Not the worst Darwin's ever seen him, but not good, either. His eyebrows are drawn together tightly, his head moving stiffly. _What the hell did you do for an hour?_

He looks at the new guy, too, taking him in without staring. Tall, about Darwin's height, broad through the shoulders, slim at the waist. Brown hair, blue eyes, big hands, put together well. About Charles's age. Something about this guy looks strong, like maybe his mutant gift is to rip apart tanks or something-- and Charles said he had access to his powers, in spite of the fact that Darwin can see the shiny gleam of the suppression collar peeking out from over the top of his turtleneck.

 _Tanks_ , Darwin thinks again, but it's not so much that he's uneasy; Darwin just wonders if maybe he should've put this guy in a room a little closer to his own.

Unfortunately, if Darwin's good at looking without staring, Hank is just the opposite. When the guy zeroes in on Hank with a brittle sense of challenge, Hank's gaze skitters away, onto Raven at first and then onto the floor. Raven, that's a good point, that is _bad_ ; if she hasn't shifted back into her true form or at the very least her typical human-camo form, with the long blonde hair and the more-or-less-true-to-self body shape, then she is _pissed_ , and that's not something Darwin really wants to have to adapt to.

So he nods to Angel, flicks his eyes at Charles. Angel gives him back a wry little look, a shared moment where they agree without words that sometimes nobody can talk sense into the boss, and Darwin twists his lips up in acknowledgement.

"We're, ah. Everything..." Charles licks his lips, eyes squinched against the light; Darwin doesn't know why he's even trying to talk when he's this out of it. "Everything worked out."

"Glad you're back," Darwin says. He nods at the new guy. "Good to meet you." He steps forward and offers his hand. The guy doesn't flinch away, but it's a moment before he reaches out and takes it. Firm grip, but not trying to break Darwin's hand. Just as well; sometimes power handshakes, especially from super-strong mutants-- who knows what this guy's powers are-- make Darwin's hands go scaly, and that's probably not what they want to greet the new guy with.

At any rate, it's clear to Darwin that this guy's not afraid of them, but he doesn't know what to make of all this, either. Darwin can relate. "I'm Armando Muñoz, but everybody calls me Darwin."

"Erik Lehnsherr," Erik answers. He looks over at Hank, who takes an involuntary step back but brandishes his little case of tools. Erik's eyes snap down to it, and both his fists clench; Hank's hands tremble, like the case is trying to rattle its way out of his grip. "And you're...?"

Darwin raises an eyebrow at Erik. Hank's tool case isn't even open, but Erik's not taking his eyes off it. "That's Hank McCoy," Darwin says. He wonders if it'd be a good idea to try touching Erik now, a little no-pressure calm-down contact, and decides not to-- Erik looks too on edge for it to go over well. "He's the guy who takes collars off, when somebody new comes around."

Now Hank does unzip his tool case, coming forward a little too quickly, and Erik's face goes hard and steely as he takes a big step back. Charles falters, looking from Erik to Hank, and Raven steps in front of Charles, blocking Erik away from him. Angel reaches out and grabs Raven by the shoulder, and Charles says, "No, wait, Erik--"

Hank's gone a paler shade of green. "I wasn't going to--"

" _Good_. You stay the hell away from me--"

"Hey, you don't want our help, _fine_ ," Raven snarls.

" _Calm down,"_ Charles forces out, and everyone takes a sharp hit of feedback, Charles's migraine bleeding over. Raven's eyes go gold; Angel flinches and puts her hands up, pressing at the sides of her head; Hank clutches his tool case to his chest and steps back a few more paces; Darwin barely even registers the hurt before it's gone, his brain blocking Charles's out.

Erik hasn't moved, not even to unclench his fists.

Everyone takes a breath, and Darwin looks to Charles. «A little help here,» he thinks, but of course now Charles can't get it; Darwin's brain is on hyper-alert, Charles couldn't push past that block unless he wanted to hurt both of them. Charles has both hands to his temples, and Raven turns, putting an arm around Charles's shoulders.

"Come on. I'm getting you to bed," Raven says, male voice gruff.

"No, I can't, I'm--"

"Get some rest," Darwin says quietly. "I got this."

Charles meets his eyes and nods, relief on his face. Before he goes, he looks hard at Angel, and she staggers back a bit, then looks at Erik and nods firmly. It doesn't do much for the look Erik's giving Charles now, and Erik's fingernails have to be cutting welts into his palms.

But having Raven out of here is only going to be a good thing, and getting Charles to bed needs to happen ASAP. As Raven guides Charles away, she's muttering at him, _can't believe you fucked yourself up doing this and left us to clean up the mess, Darwin better keep him the hell away from Hank_. Hank watches them go helplessly. Darwin shakes out his shoulders, exhaling softly.

"Okay, let's try this again," Darwin says; he's betting Erik didn't hear a word Darwin said once Hank's tool case came into play. "The young man with the glasses here is Hank McCoy. He's an engineer, and maybe a little too enthusiastic about busting people out of collars, due to the fact that we yanked him out of a place where his had a pain chip that routinely got dialed up to eleven."

Hank winces. Erik doesn't move.

"But we're not going to force you to do anything here," Darwin goes on. " _Anything._ Okay? You tell us when you want it off, and we'll be right there. We'll talk you through it step-by-step. No surprises."

"Hank, come on," Angel says softly, nodding at Darwin as she slips her hand onto Hank's shoulder. "You need sleep, too."

"Right. I need ten minutes in the--"

Her hand tightens on his shoulder, cutting off the word _lab_ with a hissed _ow_ instead. Good catch, Darwin thinks, and he wonders whether Erik's history includes some time in labs the way Darwin's does.

Once Angel and Hank are gone, it's just the two of them. Darwin cuts a sideways grin in Erik's direction and says, "It's a lot to take in all at once, I know."

Some of the tension eases out of Erik's shoulders, and he nods.

"Let me show you around. I'll give you the lay of the land, give you the penny tour-- nickel tour can wait until morning-- and sometime before tomorrow morning I'll see if I can dig you up some clothes." Darwin gives Erik a somewhat more critical look. He and Erik are actually not too far off from the same size, as long as Erik doesn't mind his shirts being a little tight in the shoulders. "So this way first. First floor has the kitchen..."

A quick look in to let Erik know where the kitchen and the pantry are, and Darwin leads him upstairs. "My room's at the end of the hall if you need anything. Charles and Raven are one floor up. Angel's next door to me, Hank usually sleeps in his workroom, but he's the first door on the right here." Darwin gestures with a thumb. "You're over here on the left. Nobody on either side of you right now."

Darwin figures he can leave the details about the school and their "students" for Charles to explain. There's a lot they're putting off until tomorrow; Darwin can kind of understand why Raven's so angry with Charles for leaving himself in that kind of condition. He opens Erik's door and leans up against the wall, just outside. "Bathroom's through the door there, all yours."

"Thank you," Erik says quietly, and now he just looks tired. Tired and alone, even though he's in a big house full of people, even though Charles probably gave him that excitable bullshit patter about people being his allies now, that he's free and they're safe here. He can make a difference, be a part of something bigger than himself.

Which is all well and good, and Darwin himself stayed on after a little bit of soul-searching and some time spent getting to know the others, but it's a big change, the kind that means having to learn how to survive all over again. New rules. New faces. And Darwin knows from experience that it's worse when the new guy thinks he's alone.

"I was in Luma facility before Charles found me," Darwin says quietly. Erik looks up at him, and Darwin can see the recognition in his eyes. "So you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, believe me, I get that. But if you need an ear, you let me know."

Erik sighs, one of his hands coming up to scratch at the back of his neck, his thumb slipping under the collar and sweeping back and forth there. "Eight years at Genosha," he murmurs. "Six weeks at Hellfire."

That is not a life story Darwin would wish on anybody, but he knows better than to trot out the _I'm so sorry_ line or the _you're safe now_ line. He thumps his fist gently against the doorframe. "I hear you," he says softly. "I mean it. End of the hall if there's anything you need."

"I appreciate it." Erik nods.

It's all there is to say, so Darwin heads off down the hall. He hears Erik's door close, and he hopes to hell that, whatever tangle Charles got himself into at Hellfire, whatever Charles did or didn't read from Erik, bringing Erik home was the right thing to do.

*

Erik shuts the door with a gesture; he can feel Darwin moving down the hall (metal belt buckle, rivets on his jeans, eyelets on his boots, all getting comfortably further away). It's clear that he's at least meant to believe he's alone, so he stands in the center of his room and stretches out his awareness.

The door looks like classic six-paneled wood, but inside it has a reinforced steel core, as does the doorjamb. Erik approves; no one here is getting through that door, not unless they can walk through walls. The windows are slightly more vulnerable, although they too have been reinforced around the edges. Someone could get in by breaking the glass, if not by pulling the metal frames out of the wall; at least Erik will know they're coming.

Other than the expected-- pipes in the bathroom, electrical wiring-- Erik can't feel metal in the walls. There's no guarantee there isn't something, certainly no guarantee he isn't being watched or listened to, but if these people wanted to hurt him, he probably wouldn't be in a comfortable bedroom, allowed to be on his own. If he really wanted to, he could blow out his own damned windows. He watched every moment on the drive to this enormous estate, and all the defenses are aimed at keeping people out, nothing keeping them in. He could leave. Yes, they know him here, but he's not _trapped_.

He reaches up to his throat, gets his fingers under the collar. It's a delicate thing, getting the collar detached; it requires more than just separating it at the latch. There's a great deal of microcircuitry that he needs to follow through various pathways, and right now he's exhausted and on edge, nowhere near the sort of mindset he'll need to get the fucking thing off him for good-- not if he wants there to be anything left of it, anyway.

He slips his fingers out from under it and closes his eyes, exhaling softly. He's found himself regrouping in worse places than this. He can do it here. He knows where Shaw is, where he'll be in two weeks. _Two weeks. Can you give them two weeks?_

He's not sure. Raven clearly doesn't like him. Angel seemed a little more approachable, but he doesn't trust her, too kind. Darwin, more approachable still, and Darwin didn't seem to even be asking for his trust, to be asking for anything at all. Of course, they could just all be coming at him with different tactics to see which one snares him.

His skin crawls when he thinks about all the delicate metal tools in McCoy's case, so many tiny sharp things, long-handled, _elegant_. Erik held himself in check enough to know the tools won't be a fused mess when McCoy next opens that case, but it was a near thing.

Charles is somewhere upstairs, but there's no way of knowing where. With his lover? That feels wrong, somehow, the look on Angel's face when he said it held more amusement than confirmation, but still-- they're the only two upstairs, according to Darwin, and presumably that means something. It shouldn't matter, he shouldn't give a damn where Charles is spending the night, whom he's waking up beside, whether Erik will be able to use sex as a way to keep the leader of this band of would-be heroes agreeable.

It was expedient, though. Expedient and unexpectedly pleasant; even now, thinking back on it, he can feel the fierce want he had for Charles, the urge to drive into Charles's body and wreck him, the satisfaction he felt when Charles's control slipped and his mind told Erik all the things he wanted. Erik's fingers come back to his collar. Charles wanted to be the one to take it off, wanted to touch him, taste him, fuck him all over again while holding Erik's neck in his hand. Fair enough; as soon as Charles yanked his tie loose, exposed his throat, Erik had similar thoughts.

He sighs and starts stripping down; he'll shower off before he tries to sleep. Here, despite the collar, despite the strangers, despite the new environment, perhaps he'll manage a few hours in a row. If nothing else, maybe Charles will have given him that.

*

Charles wakes when the curtains part and sunlight smashes down into his eyes.

"Good morning to you too," he mutters, covering his face with both hands.

"Yeah, no," Raven says with spiteful cheer, "really not."

He sits up quickly, though his head feels as though it might fall off if he moves with any speed again. "Did something happen?"

"You tell me! I wouldn't know, since you cut us off last night."

"Did anything else happen," Charles revises.

"Your new friend acted like he wanted to rip Hank in half, that was fun," Raven says, and shoves Charles back down with a hand on his shoulder when he tries to bolt up. "Darwin cooled things off, it's fine."

All right, Charles remembers that part, but after that... he rubs his eyes. "Raven, I have to insist you stop taunting me and just tell me what happened."

"Well, you left us hanging for an hour, you know that part," Raven tells him in bright schoolteacher tones. "Then we picked you up and you passed out as soon as you got into the car. Your new buddy gave me attitude, but he _was_ nice enough to mention that you fucked him blind-- direct quote!-- while you were out of touch. So that was awesome to hear after losing my mind all that time thinking you might be dead."

"I told Angel everything was fine," says Charles, ignoring the nerves that twist his stomach, hearing that she knows rather more than he would've liked. "I told her I needed to be able to promise him that he was only dealing with me."

"Uh huh." Raven sits at the foot of the bed, vivid blue in the punishing sunlight. "Which was a lie."

"He didn't trust me; I had to open my mind to him, and he would have been able to tell if I'd still been in contact with Angel," Charles insists.

"Right. You couldn't do all that and also screw him. That seemed like a good idea? Really, Charles? Really?"

"No," Charles snaps, "it seemed like an _amazing_ idea," and feels the heat of a blush crawl over his face and neck, stealing even down his chest. "At the time," he adds, striving for a more conciliatory tone.

"Are you doing this all the time, is that why you go in alone?"

«No! You know I'm not,» the denial too instant and vehement for words. His lingering headache is going to burst open into another migraine if he can't calm down. He pulls his knees up against his chest and wraps his arms around his legs, stretching his shoulders and forcing them to relax.

«I've tried to avoid things like this, it was just-- look at him,» oh God, not what Charles meant to send, he's just making this worse. "He's cautious, paranoid, you know there are cameras in the rooms there," and he gives her the memory of Erik thinking furiously, «You're going to get me killed.»

"So it was his idea," Raven says, unimpressed.

"I won't pretend it took much coaxing," Charles admits. "It's a tense situation, it's easy to get caught up in the moment."

"Right. And just look at him," Raven grins evilly.

Charles lifts an eyebrow at her. This is beginning to infringe on their truce. "How are you and Hank getting along?"

"We're doing great," she says, "neither of us have slept with any strangers within, like, ten minutes after meeting them, so..."

"All right. I know it must seem," Charles grimaces, "impulsive. Selfish. But I really don't know if he would've gone with us any other way, and I couldn't leave him there. He'd be caught eventually, and it might lead humans to question whether there are more deactivated suppression collars in circulation; that could be disastrous."

"It's amazing how you believe your own bullshit almost as fast as you can come up with it." Raven leans past the foot of the bed and comes up with a Vitamin Water and a blister pack of painkillers. "Here."

"Thank you." He cracks open the sweating bottle and takes a long drink, tosses down a couple of pills and drinks again. "Though I notice you kept these hostage til after you'd interrogated me."

"You really scared us," Raven tells him. "Not just cutting contact. When you finished fixing things at the Club you just keeled over, we had no way of knowing if you'd be okay. How'd it happen? It's never put you out like that before."

"I'm all right. It's only-- as a show of good faith, I located someone for Erik, and it took a bit more effort than I expected. Doing that as well as the Club did my head in, but I'm fine now. This is helping," he lifts the drink, "thank you."

"It's dangerous for you to burn yourself out like that. It's not like we can just slap a Band-Aid on your brain. And what if we'd run into trouble on the way home?"

"Then you would've woken me and I would've dealt with it," Charles says. "I haven't let you down yet, have I? In that respect."

"You need to be more careful," says Raven. "That Erik guy is spooky. He wouldn't tell us what you'd done to wear yourself out. When I asked about his powers he gave me some crap about being able to rig coin tosses."

"I suppose he could at that," Charles can't help a rueful laugh. "Raven... Erik isn't the first troubled person to land here and he won't be the last. We just have to treat him with compassion until he comes to trust us as best he's able."

"Compassion," Raven repeats skeptically. "Are you going to compassionately jump back into bed with him?"

"That's not my intention, no," Charles says, striving to sound dry and unconcerned. He finds Erik compelling, but that electric sense of connection between them was surely just the stress of a fraught situation.

Better not to complicate things any further. Later, maybe, after Erik finds the traitor he's looking for; after some time to let him recover and settle into a new life here. Maybe then Charles might approach him that way again. But for now it would be better to follow his own advice. Compassion, patience, kindness. Hands to himself.

Literally, that last one; that would help. Though he can hardly take care of that with Raven still lingering, going through his wardrobe now and tossing clothes at him, "Come on and get dressed, we'll take a walk before anyone's up, it'll be good for your head."

He's not willing to risk her fragile forgiveness to turn the suggestion down, and anyway, she's right, a walk often does help after a migraine like that. There's only so much control he can exert over his own body with his powers, but this he's mastered from a young age; a few moments' thought and he can get out of bed without making Raven complain about needing brain bleach.

"All right," he says, "I surrender, you tyrant, I'm getting up."

*

The nightmares are mostly kind; Erik sleeps one hour and then three, ninety minutes and then another forty-five. And then the next time Erik opens his eyes, it's light out.

He glances over at the clock beside his bed, a heavy brass thing with a rotating pendulum at the base. Past seven. He feels more rested than he has in months.

Still in bed, he stretches his senses out, checking for the others. Even if they aren't wearing metal, the vibrations in metal objects around them should give them away. No one's moving nearby, but there's something outside his door, almost too small to notice. He climbs out of bed, not bothering to dress-- modesty is something he'll need to relearn after his time at Hellfire, and just now he really doesn't give a damn-- and takes a look outside his door.

There's a small pile of clothes and a note; Erik pulls both into his room and shuts the door again.

 _They're mine, but they might fit. We'll send someone out for more clothes today. Hang in there. --Darwin_

Clothes off his back. Erik shakes his head. If it's meant to be a ploy to make him feel part of the family, it's not going to work-- but it _would_ be nice to dress in something that wasn't given to him by Hellfire. He tugs the jeans on, threads the belt through the loops with his hands as he buttons up the fly with his power. He's got all but the top button done when there's a brush against his mind, an already familiar feeling that says far more than a knock on the door would.

Still. Erik goes to the door, clothes still in disarray; his body has no secrets from Charles, not after last night. He unseals the door with his power and gestures casually to open it, catching it in one hand and leaning some of his weight against it. "A knock was insufficient?"

Charles looks different this morning, less theatrical than he did last night. No suit, no carefully mussed hair and cultivated stubble; today he's clean-shaven, fresh-faced, in worn-thin jeans and a high-collared brown velour shirt that zips up the front. It isn't zipped all the way; there's a teasing glimpse of Charles's throat at the top, likely not something Charles is showing off on purpose.

But it seems they're experiencing a bit of synchronicity, because Charles's eyes are drawn to Erik's throat for entirely different reasons. Erik still has his suppression collar ( _slave's collar_ , Erik thinks, remembering how everyone referred to them at Hellfire) around his neck.

Charles clears his throat, scratches just behind his ear. "I was going to knock," he says, "but you beat me to the door. Did you sleep well?"

There's not much to be gained from holding the detail back, and besides which Charles can probably tell without having to read Erik's mind. "Surprisingly so," Erik admits. "Are you feeling better this morning?"

Charles smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Erik is going to remain neutral to that look if it kills him. "Much, yes, thank you." And then Erik's neutrality is a moot point, because the smile disappears, and Charles begins apologizing, "About last night-- I'm so sorry for being a bit useless once we left Hellfire. I'm told it wasn't exactly a smooth transition once you arrived."

"I wasn't expecting one."

"Still, it might have gone better if I'd been able to lend a hand. At least let me apologize for that."

He seems so earnest, maybe even more than he was last night. When Erik doesn't answer right away, the pause goes awkward on them, and Charles shifts from foot to foot, jamming his hands into his pockets. Erik sighs and steps back into the room, holding the door open for Charles in invitation. Charles hesitates before walking in, but once he's there, Erik closes the door, twisting the lock shut with his power.

Charles shoots a look back to the door, then to Erik, before glancing around the room, as if he'd rather look anywhere but Erik just now. He focuses on the clothing still at the foot of the bed, a T-shirt, socks, neither of which Erik had time to bother with. "Darwin's?"

"Yes."

"The shirt won't fit very well--"

"I'm sure it'll be fine."

"Yes, just a moment--" Charles lifts two fingers and presses them to his temple, and Erik feels something whisper past his mind again, there and gone in an instant. A few seconds later, Charles lets his hand drop, and he smiles at Erik. "There. I've sent someone out for some things for you; it shouldn't take long."

It's such a casual use of his power that Erik almost can't believe Charles did it; how hard would it have been to ask Erik for a list of his sizes, to call down the stairs to whoever he was going to send out on an errand?

"Says the man who buttons up his jeans with his mutation," Charles says dryly, and Erik snorts despite himself. "You're probably right, though. I just hate to put off things I can handle right now."

He slips his hands back into his pockets and walks over to Erik, standing a little closer than Erik would probably allow most people. Then again, most people didn't fuck him last night; Erik can understand Charles wanting to take liberties. In the bright light of day with a good night's sleep behind him, and the memory of last night renewed now that he's face-to-face with Charles again, he can admit he feels an urge to take liberties of his own.

He doesn't, though he looks into Charles's eyes and doesn't try to stop the thoughts going through his mind: Charles on his knees in front of him, that excellent mouth opening wide for Erik's cock; Charles straddling his lap while Erik holds him down and fucks up into him; his collar gone, Charles's fingertips stroking the bare skin beneath where it used to be.

The last image gets Charles to lift his hand, reaching out, but he stops himself from making contact at the last moment, his fingers nearly grazing Erik's skin. "Yes. That," Charles says, "the, ah, the collar. Did Hank not volunteer to remove it last night? I'm surprised, he's usually very quick about those things."

"You _were_ out of it by then, weren't you?" Erik shifts away from Charles; if Charles doesn't quite remember how things went after they got back to the mansion, maybe it's better not to remind him. "Fortunately, your-- friend-- got you upstairs soon after."

"My _what_?" Of course Charles could hear the thoughts underlying 'friend': _lover, is that man your lover, is that why he was so angry with me, have I stepped into something even more foolish than I feared?_ And he looks sufficiently startled to confirm Erik's suspicion that Raven isn't Charles's lover at all, though Erik still blinks with surprise when Charles says, "No, Raven is my sister."

"Raven is, near as I can tell, a man in his early thirties."

Charles shakes his head. "Raven is a metamorph in her late twenties. With any luck you'll see her real shape soon enough, at breakfast, maybe. Well, not necessarily her real shape, she's normally blue-skinned, but she sticks to one particular look when we aren't on a mission."

Metamorphs. Telepaths. Erik raises an eyebrow. "And the others? Angel, Darwin, McCoy? What do they do?"

"Angel has wings," Charles says, smiling-- Erik isn't sure if it's fondness or pride or both. "She can also spit flaming wads of acid, and her range and accuracy are nothing short of stunning. Hank has prehensile feet, and he's very strong and quick and agile. Darwin's abilities are still a bit of a mystery to us, or I suppose I should say his limits are; he can adapt to survive or tolerate almost any condition."

Erik's stomach rolls over. Luma facility, Darwin said. Yes, Erik can imagine what the scientists at Luma would have done to someone with a power like that.

Charles's expression falters, and he looks as if he wants to reach out again. This time he doesn't. "Genosha-- Erik, I didn't realize--"

"Didn't get the entire life story last night?" Erik finds that oddly comforting, that and the knowledge that Charles has limits. "I'm sure there are any number of files on me. You can look up my years under Shaw if you want."

This time Charles winces outright. "I understand," he says, though of course he can't, how could he, Erik can't imagine Charles has ever been held against his will and tortured that way. The man still poses as a human and goes to the Hellfire Club to draw in recruits. His cover is secure. "Erik, I know how important Shaw is to you, and I can only say that I agree with you. From what little I was able to gather out of Quested's thoughts, it's clear Shaw needs to be stopped, and soon."

Something else that's clear: Charles was holding out on Erik last night. Erik shoves that thought under a few layers of physical attraction, the way he's been looking at the zipper on Charles's shirt and contemplating a light tug to get it open even further. "And what do you plan on doing about that?"

Charles shifts his weight again, tongue flicking out over his lips. "Whatever needs to be done," he says, a little weakly. "In the meantime... the collar, surely you'd like to have it off."

"Very much."

Charles is leaning in again, closer and closer, and this time he gives Erik a bit of an alert, a mind-touch that feels almost like asking for permission. Erik nods, and Charles reaches out, brushing his fingertips over the metal-- just the metal, it's as if he's trying to behave and avoid touching Erik's skin. Erik extends his awareness into the collar, leaving aside the microcircuitry inside and focusing on the surface, the body-warmed layer Charles is all but caressing.

"You could remove this yourself, couldn't you?" Charles murmurs.

"Yes," Erik admits. "It's complicated, but I could, yes."

"Why haven't you?"

 _Because last night I was too tired to do it without breaking it, and I want it working when I see Shaw again._ It might be too late, Charles might have overheard that, but Erik brings up a more distracting image anyway, in an effort to cover the initial thought. Charles inside him last night, his fingers hooked beneath the smooth metal, the heat and desperation in his body, the eager, almost possessive tenor of his thoughts when he told Erik _this useless thing, I can't wait to take it off you._

"You seemed interested in being involved," Erik says lightly. "I thought you ought to at least have the opportunity."

"You have quite the knack for projection," Charles murmurs. His thumb goes sliding across the collar, just at the front of Erik's throat. "It usually takes a great deal of practice to push across something so vivid."

"We met under fairly intense circumstances," Erik counters. "And I'm a fast learner."

He reaches up, fast enough Charles doesn't have time to move away, and curls his fingers around Charles's wrist. Charles's eyes go a little wide, but he parts his lips, his mouth wet and inviting. He does nothing to close the distance between them. If this is going to happen, if Erik's going to use sex to keep Charles off-guard, he's going to have to make the first move here.

It helps that he wants to. He's here, he's free, it's his choice-- the justifications for why he wants to do it run over each other in layers. He pushes them forward, shuffles them like a stack full of papers; yes, there's _lead him around by his dick_ in there, and he buries it near the bottom, beneath _want that mouth on me_ and _my turn, my turn to fuck_ and _so pretty, want to see his face when he comes_. He leaves a few misgivings near the surface to avoid suspicion-- _just met him, don't trust him_ \-- but the overriding feeling, for real and for show, is that this is what Erik _wants_ , and he thinks _I want this_ so hard Charles bites his lower lip and sways on his feet.

Erik brings his other hand up and slips his fingers into Charles's shirt, moving them in past the slightly-open zipper and settling his hand against Charles's neck, where Charles's collar would be if he were wearing one. He brushes his fingertips back and forth across that strip of skin. Charles swallows, his throat working under Erik's fingers, and now he's breathing faster and faster, all but openly panting for it. His body's leaning forward as if Erik's magnetic pull works on every part of Charles's being. Erik spares a glance down to Charles's cock; hard enough Erik can see its outline beneath Charles's fly, which by now is no surprise. Erik is every bit as hard, his cock trapped alongside his right thigh, denim scratching at him just a little.

"Charles," Erik murmurs, pressing gently against Charles's throat. Charles moans outright, his fingers splaying out across Erik's collar, held in place by Erik's grip on his wrist.

«I shouldn't,» comes across, but it comes with such a blast of lust-fogged wanting that it doesn't sound convincing for even a moment. «You want... I know it isn't... not just about bodies... not simple,» Charles thinks. If this is how coherent Charles's thoughts are, Erik can only imagine what he'd say if he were trying to speak.

He forms thoughts for Charles, wonders how much his desire will color them. «Nothing is simple,» Erik thinks. «And I don't just want your body, no.» He focuses on the sense he's had since meeting Charles, the thrill from being with someone so gloriously powered, the knowledge that for the first time he was with someone who found Erik's power exciting and not frightening, something to be explored, not controlled. «You want this off me,» he projects, his grip on Charles's wrist tightening. «I'm not a slave, never was, you knew it then... you want to see what I can do.»

He glances at Charles's shirt, and now the urge is overwhelming. He pulls the zipper down-- it's mostly nylon, bloody thing, but the pull itself is metal, and he tugs and tugs until Charles's shirt hangs open most of the way to his waist, until Erik can look inside and imagine what all that bare skin will feel like against his own.

Whatever inner struggle Charles has been going through, his resolve cracks at that. He brings his free hand up, strokes over Erik's collar, brushes his fingers over the skin just below it. Erik closes his eyes, tilts his chin up to give Charles better access, and Charles catches his breath for a moment, body tense. "Sod it," he mutters under his breath, and he reaches to the nape of Erik's neck, grip tightening over Erik's neck and the collar for a moment before he lets go. When he speaks again, the hesitance is gone. "If you'll sit on the bed, I think I can help get that off you."

It's not an order, not anything like an order, but it sparks an urge to _obey_ that Erik immediately shoves aside. _Not this time, not like that, you're one up on me as it is._ And so instead of dropping to his knees and opening Charles's fly with his power, he turns his back on Charles, heads over to the bed.

He glances over his shoulder; Charles is standing still, only watching him. Erik raises an eyebrow, curious enough to ask out loud. "Do you really like marks?" He drops his gaze, nodding generally toward his back; the shower last night stung enough that Erik knows he's still carrying scratches, though they're healing quickly enough.

It seems to catch Charles off-guard, because his mouth works for a few seconds before he answers. "I'd like them better if they were--"

"Yours?" Erik puts his hands down on the bed, steps one leg out behind him; he bends down and stretches, pushing his arms straight and bending his head down between them. Charles makes a strangled sound, but Erik's back up again, shaking out his shoulders, rolling his neck, and he turns and sits down on the bed, eyebrows raised.

"Unconflicted," Charles answers, and then, good grief, after everything that's gone between them, the man actually colors up a bit. "You're not making it easy to concentrate."

 _Good_ , Erik thinks sharply, and Charles's eyebrows draw together; no, there's no way he could have missed that. "I didn't mean it like that," he murmurs.

"Yes, you did." Charles sighs and comes forward, stepping between Erik's legs; Erik has to spread his thighs wide apart to accommodate him. "You meant it in other ways, too, but you _did_ mean that."

"All right." Erik unfastens Charles's zipper the rest of the way with a tug of his gift, and slips both hands under Charles's shirt, parting the fabric-- brown velour, really, who _dresses_ him-- and sliding his hands over Charles's bare skin, resting his hands at the small of Charles's back. "I meant it."

Charles groans softly and bends his head down, eyes closing; Erik tips his head up and takes the offered kiss, spreading his hands out and running them up Charles's back. His skin is warm and smooth, unmarked, and while he's fit enough, there's some softness to him.

As if in answer and in contrast, Charles surges forward, fitting his body up against Erik's, his cock rubbing deliberately against Erik's. Not soft everywhere, not _there_ , and as soon as Erik's helped Charles get his arms out of his shirt, dropped it to the floor, Charles lifts his hands, putting his fingers deliberately but very lightly on Erik's collar.

«How did you do it?» Charles asks, mind-to-mind while his tongue is busy exploring Erik's mouth. «It doesn't work on you; is it just a side-effect of your power?»

Erik shifts one of his hands to the back of Charles's head, tilts his head slightly to the side to deepen the kiss. He sucks on Charles's lower lip, bites down gently, and Charles moans, fingertips slipping between the collar and Erik's neck. But it's as though he's trying to hold on to something; it doesn't feel like he's trying to choke Erik or remind him of the collar's presence. This is different from last night, slower, less frenzied, and for all of that, Erik still wants to fuck Charles until they're both shaking and exhausted.

«How...» The thought is much less clear this time, Charles's curiosity about what Erik's done to his collar subsumed by the pleasure he's getting from the kiss. Erik reaches down, curves his hand around Charles's ass, brings him in close and ruts against him, hips working with the same insistent pressure of his mouth.

But distracted or not, Charles is still dead-set on asking the question, «how» coming across for a third time, and this time Erik draws back.

"I don't have the technical vocabulary to walk you through what I did," Erik admits. "I can feel the circuit strip inside the collar; I disabled the failsafes, yanked at things that felt important until the electric fields went dormant. I know what I pulled, but I couldn't tell you precisely what all those circuits and pathways do."

"Show me," Charles urges, taking one hand off Erik's collar to place his fingers against his temple. "Don't try to tell me, just show me."

It makes sense, Erik supposes. Faster, easier. In a way it's the inverse of last night, where Erik rode along on Charles's thoughts, tracking down Shaw and his associates. This time, Erik closes his eyes, focuses until he feels Charles's presence in his mind, and then narrows down his world to the collar and all the tiny bits and pieces of metal inside it.

There are places where the shimmering copper lines are scratched, breaking the pathways just enough to prevent functionality. More than were probably needed, enough to make Erik feel safe even with the collar around his neck. For the most part, though, he didn't need to alter the the copper etching on the circuit board; instead, he used the tiny pieces of metal around the circuits, bent them or snapped them, and as Erik slides their dual awareness around one of those pieces, there's an overwhelming urge to share. Charles is twining around his thoughts like a dream, like a memory Erik has always had, and Erik goes a little giddy at the idea of someone understanding this-- really, truly _understanding_ , recognizing all the things Erik's power can mean without wanting to turn Erik into a slave or send him to a mutant detention facility.

«Show me,» Charles thinks, Erik's excitement sparking something in him, too; they're electric together, _so good_ , Erik's not sure he could say no even if he wanted to.

That flares up a warning in him: Charles could be manipulating him so easily. But as long as Charles has use of his powers, he represents such a tremendous threat that suspicion is wasted on him. If Erik displeases him at all, Charles could change his mind for him, make him forget, end him right now. Erik may as well take what's happening at face value. He doesn't really have a choice.

And so he lets Charles in, just a little more, lets him see how easy it would be for Erik to repair the damage he's done. One broken contact at a time, Erik guides Charles's attention to each of them, and with the collar still heavy on his neck, he's all too aware of what it might mean to do it. He could put them back together, each place, each damaged filament; feeling sicker by the moment, he imagines what it would be like to pull each circuit back together, restoring each connection, feeling his power slip away from him piece by piece and bit by bit, until the last circuit was repaired and he was helpless all over again. If he were anyone else, with any other power, the choice wouldn't have been his-- he'd have needed a counterfeit collar or he'd have needed to bargain with someone for his freedom, someone who would have exacted a very high price.

And it still would have been worth it. All of it will be worth it once he finds Shaw again.

Charles's fingers flex and tighten on Erik's collar. «Off you, I want this off you, let me take it off you...»

Erik eases his way back out, brings himself back to the room, to Charles, to Charles's heat and nearness and the hot rush of his breath against Erik's cheek. It's so much to take in all at once, all that sudden sensation against his body, all the places Charles is touching him while still lingering in Erik's mind. Charles is pressed against him, both their chests bare, Erik's arms around Charles's back, and as Erik tries to pull himself together enough to think clearly, Charles gasps against him and starts leaving desperate kisses across Erik's face.

Erik wonders if he was clutching at Charles while they were inside the collar together. If he was holding Charles to him as tightly as Charles held onto Erik last night, on that search for Quested. He thinks it's possible.

"You'll need," Erik says, breathless, almost mindless with want now, "tools," and he can't resist, he nuzzles against Charles's neck, tipping Charles's head up and grazing his stubble against Charles's clean-shaven skin.

Charles reaches forward, brushes his fingertips against Erik's temple. "No," he murmurs. «I don't need tools. All I need is the use of your power for a few moments. With your permission...»

Awareness of what Charles wants to do spikes through Erik, and he takes a deliberate breath, keeps his hands still on Charles's body. He doesn't move away, doesn't pull back, but he opens his mouth and puts his teeth on the side of Charles's neck, just beneath his ear.

«Is that...» He concentrates on Charles's skin, the taste and feel of it under his tongue. He can still move, can still think, still breathe-- for the moment, Erik still has control over himself, and he bites lightly at Charles's neck, earning a shudder and a convulsive tug against his collar for it. «That was what you meant last night. My power.»

«Yes... no... oh, God, I didn't care how, just wanted it off you, don't stop, teeth, yes--» Erik obliges him, digging his teeth in a little more sharply. Charles still has his fingers in the collar, and when Erik lets up for a moment, tongue teasing over the faint marks his teeth left, Charles manages to string words together. «Look what you're doing to me now. Do you really think I had the technicalities in mind?» He gets one hand off Erik's collar, buries it in Erik's hair. «If you'd let me do it last night, I would have ripped it to pieces just so I could...» He shudders, pulls himself away from Erik's teeth, and then he's tugging Erik's head back by the hair, putting his lips on Erik's collar, licking just above it so Erik goes almost insane from the tease.

And yes, it's much less insidious put that way... but is it? Is it really? He's assuming if Charles were altering him, Erik would never even know it, but there are limits to what Charles can do, a price to be paid, Erik's seen that. And he knows that anger throws Charles off for a moment. If this is manipulation, it might not be too late. Anger, Erik can do.

Erik grabs Charles by both arms, pushes him away. Charles is swollen-mouthed, lips an almost impossibly vivid shade of red, and he looks dazed, as if he can't imagine why Erik could possibly have wanted him to stop.

"Erik...?"

"It would be easy for you, wouldn't it." Charles still looks utterly baffled; Erik grits his teeth and gives Charles a sharp, rough shake. "Making me want this, making me want to give you my power and my mind and my body--"

Understanding lights in Charles's eyes, then horror, and he jerks away. Erik lets him go. "God, _no_ \-- I would _never_ \--" Charles sags a little, hurt written all over his face. A little more than that, maybe, a little anger as well, but mostly it's that kicked-puppy look, a look Erik has to steel himself against. "Do you think that's what this is all about?"

Erik shakes his head-- why he feels he owes Charles this much, he's not sure, but it's the truth, he's not going to hide from it. "I'd want you anyway," he admits. "You wouldn't have to force me into it. But it doesn't change the fact that you _can_."

Charles pulls himself together; his jaw firms, and he tilts his chin up. There's a strength to him that Erik has been underestimating. "All right, yes; yes, I could make you want me. I could also make you trust me, but you'll notice you're not doing much of that. And if, _if_ I were to borrow your power, I wouldn't hide what I was doing. You'd be able to feel it with me. I'd--" He sighs. "I'd thought-- after what it felt like to look at your collar from the inside, what it was like to be there with you for that, I thought you were asking me to-- I thought you wanted to share that."

Erik can't help the short bark of laughter he lets out. " _Share_ it," he murmurs.

"Yes," Charles says, and he steps forward again, takes a chance and puts his hands on Erik's shoulders. "I know your life is a long series of people using you for your power, but _I'm not them_. Can I convince you of that? Would you let me persuade you if I promised to use words and not take shortcuts with my mind?"

Erik reaches out, cups Charles's face in his hands. He rubs his thumb over Charles's lip, looking intently into his eyes. _I thought you wanted to share that._ It wasn't Charles who started this, Erik is forced to admit; Erik's the one who let Charles in, showed him the inner workings of the collar, allowed Charles to see his fears. And it made Charles want to have the collar off him, not on; made Charles want to see Erik freed, not enslaved and made to serve.

"Trust doesn't come naturally to me," Erik murmurs. "But--"

That one word, _but_ , makes Charles's eyes light up in a way that leaves Erik breathless. A wisp of thought comes across Erik's mind-- _I am fucked, I am really superbly fucked_ \-- but Charles is busy climbing into his lap, and Erik groans against Charles's mouth, tugging him closer, getting his hands under Charles's ass and realizing that right now he honestly doesn't give a damn.

Charles buries both hands in Erik's hair this time, tugging his head back again. Erik swallows against the collar-- it feels impossibly tight now-- and Charles licks a broad stripe across the front of Erik's neck, taking in collar and skin at once. Erik jams his hands into Charles's back pockets and thrusts up hard against him, moaning, and he can't help it, can't resist it-- he sends his senses into the metal of the collar, lets himself feel every micron as Charles's tongue laves over it, working back and forth against the gleaming adamantium alloy. This, the thrilling sensation of touch transmitting from metal to Erik's body, is one of the few skills Erik's hoarded for himself over the years, one of the few things he learned out of curiosity and desire and not because it was forced on him. Having Charles lick the collar is nearly as good as it would be if Charles's tongue were on his cock; oh, that's been a skill worth cultivating, if just for this one moment.

"Let me," Charles pants, hands coming down from Erik's hair and sliding down his shoulders, down his back. "Want to, _so_ badly, let me, please, Erik..."

Erik grunts and thrusts up hard; he's rutting against Charles like an animal now, all instincts, no thoughts. Like this, maybe Charles couldn't take him over after all-- Erik isn't sure he's got enough mind left to control. But he _wants_ , badly; he wants in a way that feels connected to his body, not his mind, and that makes it harder, so much harder to resist.

He reaches up, drags his fingernails down Charles's back. Charles cries out and arches, head dropping back, neck exposed and vulnerable, and Erik reaches up with one hand, fingers threaded through the hair at Charles's nape to hold him steady while he licks and bites down the center of Charles's throat.

«I want to,» he thinks; if his thoughts come through half as growled as they feel in his own mind, Charles may barely be able to understand him. «Want to, _want_ to, how do I know I can trust you, you won't need me if you can take my power that way, how do I trust you, tell me how to do that--»

Charles gasps, openmouthed, both hands clutching at Erik's shoulders. "Yes, oh God, wait, wait--"

Erik doesn't want to wait, but if this is about trust, he has to. Has to be trustworthy as well as extending that trust to Charles. He lets Charles's head go and buries his face against the side of Charles's neck, panting hard and trying to catch his breath. Charles squirms in his lap, his fingernails still dug in tightly against Erik's shoulders, eight perfect crescents of pure pleasure-pain, and Erik moans out loud, realizing that these may be the first marks Charles leaves on his body. Charles gasps, too, releasing his hold on Erik immediately.

"You heard that," Erik mumbles.

"I'm not trying to mark you."

Erik brushes his cheek against Charles's neck. "Do I have to make the same promise?"

Charles shudders, gets his arms around Erik and holds him tightly. It's not an answer. When Charles turns his head and presses his lips against the spot just behind Erik's ear, Erik puts his hands on Charles's hips and closes his eyes. _Not yet,_ he thinks, and that _is_ a promise, to himself even if Charles wasn't listening in.

A few more moments, and Charles loosens his hold. "Trust," Charles murmurs, "is something we're already building." He lets Erik go and draws back, but only far enough to look into Erik's eyes. "You're here even though you know what I can do. Right?"

Erik's hands flex and tighten on Charles's hips, but he nods, once, brusquely.

"So you've trusted me enough to risk that much." Charles's lips turn up at one corner. "Thank you, by the way. Trust is like anything else, you learn it by doing it, a little at a time. Like-- juggling, you don't start with torches and knives, you try easy things to begin with, and go from there."

"Juggling," Erik repeats. _Absurd_ , he thinks, but the desire to trust Charles, just for now, is strong enough he finds himself nodding.

"Lie back," Charles says, and he guides Erik down on his back, helps Erik crawl backwards onto the bed. He never moves off Erik; Erik doesn't think he would have allowed it anyway.

Once Erik has been moved, tugged, pushed and pulled into position, head resting on his pillows, body spread out all over the bed, Charles kneels up, reaching up with one hand to brush his hair out of his eyes.

"Juggling," Erik says, one more time, and Charles's tongue sweeps out over his lip as he comes back down, catching Erik's wrists gently in his hands and pressing them lightly against the pillows. Once they're where Charles wants them, Charles doesn't try to hold them or rest his weight on them; he's barely even making contact now, the light touch against the inside of Erik's wrist a wicked little tease.

"It's all right if I do this," Charles asks, not quite a question, not quite a statement. "It doesn't scare you. And it isn't hurting you--" He cuts a grin at Erik. "In any way you wouldn't want me to."

"No," Erik breathes, "no, it... it's all right." He has to struggle not to move his wrists under Charles's palms; he wants more, wants less, wants up-- there's no way to describe what this is like. _Juggling_ , he thinks, and it's less absurd by the moment: starting slow, adding more, a little at a time, secure in the confidence that just a few simple motions can keep it all going and going.

So much is suspended in this simple motion, Charles's hands holding his wrists. _Trust made solid flesh_ , Erik thinks, and when Charles's grip goes tight, it's almost a relief.

"And this," Charles murmurs, the clear blue of his eyes drowning in dark. "You're letting me do this. You're stronger than I am. You could throw me off if you liked."

Erik licks his lips and nods; it would be easy, a simple shift of weight and a firm press upward with his hands, like a push-up in reverse. Charles is strong enough for whatever it is he does, probably, but not as strong as Erik. But Erik's under him, letting Charles keep Erik's wrists pinned to the bed with his strength and his body weight, and Erik rocks his hips up, his belt buckle jingling; he never did get that thing buckled on, never did button the top button of his fly.

Charles bends his head down, presses his lips to Erik's chest. Erik's whole body flushes; this is easy, familiar, but it's something else, a lesson that isn't going to end with pain or punishment or, if he's lucky, even fear. He licks his lips, lets his eyes fall closed for a second, just a second.

"Erik," Charles moans. His breath is warm against Erik's chest, and he sounds as shaken as Erik feels. "I've got you."

"Yes," Erik whispers, and his mind is full of it-- huge fierce thoughts of _don't betray me_ , not even in words as much as feelings. Charles's hands go tighter on his wrists, his tongue moving gently up and down the center of Erik's chest, and Erik calms himself, centers himself on the feel of Charles holding him, the knowledge that he's here by choice.

Charles leaves a gentle trail of kisses all the way up Erik's chest, over his neck and onto his jawline, his cheek. "You know I don't need my hands to keep you in place," Charles murmurs. He rubs up, his cock hard against Erik's, so hard, enough to make Erik want to feel it inside him again. "You've seen what I can do."

Erik clenches his hands despite himself. _Relax_ , he thinks forcefully, _relax, relax, safe, here by choice,_ safe _._

"You know what I can do, but you trust me not to do it. How many things in this room could you throw at me to get me off you?" Charles murmurs, and his tongue curves around Erik's ear, trailing from lobe to helix.

The brass clock on the nightstand jumps, vibrates. Erik reaches out for it with his power, fumbling-- he hasn't been this awkward since he was a teenager-- but it's too late. The clock pitches over and rolls off the nightstand, and the glass casing shatters on the floor.

Erik's mortified, but Charles only laughs softly, his breath tickling Erik's ear. "That, I think, is the precise opposite of throwing something at me."

He rubs up against Erik again, bare skin on bare skin, cock rubbing against cock through too damned many layers of denim, and Erik stops fighting it. "Show me," he whispers. "Pin me. I want--" He doesn't even know how to say what it is he wants. "Please."

*

Charles looks down at Erik, his parted lips, the long straight brows knitting over hooded blue eyes. He's known this man less than twenty-four hours, but Erik's face already seems as familiar to him as if Charles had seen it in the mirror every day.

That's nothing new for him, after connecting with someone's mind. What's new is the way that Erik keeps surprising him. Charles can feel Erik's suspicion, how ingrained it is and how deep it runs, echoes of the horrors that instilled it.

It amazes and humbles him that Erik would allow Charles to test his fragile trust.

Erik's motives aren't simple, of course, because nothing ever is. His permission is buoyed up on waves of complicated emotions: lust, loneliness, touch starvation, a self-destructive streak, something that might be survivor's guilt, so much churning just under the surface.

But Erik doesn't merely agree to it, he wants it, and that staggers Charles. He thought just reminding Erik of his power might repel him, and it does, but it's as if the fear makes Erik angry and the anger solidifies his determination to face it down. And washing over it all, a tide of longing. Erik has been on his own for so long, he wants an ally to earn his faith. He expects bitter disappointment, but he's opening himself all the same.

Charles slides his hands from Erik's wrists to lace their fingers together. "I'll show you. It's like this," he says, and he holds Erik in place with his mind, and bends to touch a kiss to his unmoving mouth; a shocking thrill to be allowed to take the liberty.

Panic ripples through Erik, overtaken by a swell of arousal, «Yes...»

"You knew I could do this, and you came with me," Charles says, his skin heating. "I think you've already decided you can trust me, if you just let yourself." He releases his mental grip on Erik, meeting his mouth again, inviting Erik to respond, now that he can. Delight wells up in him as Erik takes advantage and kisses him deeply, keeping his hands fast in Charles's grip, squeezing back.

He can feel Erik's exhilaration, tinted with relief and lingering doubt. "Charles," his voice is low and rich, "yes-- more." He rubs the side of his nose against Charles's, seems to take strength from Charles's nearness; for the moment, that barrier's been crossed. "I'd do more," Erik whispers, and then it isn't a statement anymore, it's an urge, very nearly an order. "Do more, more of this, come on..."

"More?" Charles can't stop beaming, because Erik means it. He really does. "I can do more." He sits up astride Erik's body and slides back, jarring Erik's open belt as he settles himself, pressing in all the right spots to keep both of them keyed up and hard. He looks at Erik's hands, still above his head, and impels Erik to move them to the fly of Charles's trousers, then restores Erik's control.

Again, a wide-eyed flicker over Erik's face, but the startlement eases instantly this time, possibly because of what Erik's found under his hands. "Oh, what do I have here," Erik murmurs, smiling a little now as well, and he exerts his own power, flicking Charles's zipper down with a thought.

"Very fine control," Charles compliments him, giddy. He thought he was captivated by Erik's intensity the night before, but this is lighter, almost playful, and he's just as fascinated. Maybe it's just Erik. "Let me check..." Charles rolls off him long enough to skin out of his trousers and pants, hurrying back into place and making a show of looking at the zipper placket. "Look at that. Not a tooth out of place."

"It wouldn't be much of a party trick otherwise," says Erik. "I think I like yours better."

Charles can't help risking it and going a little further, eager to answer the growing curiosity and enjoyment he can feel in Erik. "We can try using them both," he says, and borrows Erik's power for just a moment, enough to seize the buckle of the loose belt around Erik's waist and whip it out of the beltloops, whisking it aside and dropping it onto the floor.

Telepathy is ordinary to him; it's always just a bit odd to read people and glimpse a hint of what it would be like not to have it, to be numb to others' thoughts and feelings. Controlling people is more of an exertion, but that feels natural to him as well, no more strange than lifting something heavy.

But he doesn't have a physical ability himself, and it's rare he has permission or justification to nick someone else's. To be able to affect the physical world, to move an object just by willing it, that's foreign and a bit uncanny. He can read from Erik how little effort it took to move the belt, how many things in the room Erik could summon or send flying if he wished it, how Erik feels even the magnetic fields of power and earth around them like something he could reach and shape. The potential of his ability is breathtaking.

Even though he readily invited Charles to control his body, Erik tenses when he realizes Charles has adopted his power; there's a cascade of dread and dismay in him, but it's over almost before Erik registers it, and he stares up, conflicted.

"I could still feel it," he says after a moment, relaxing a little.

"I can't take it from you, I used it through you," Charles says. "You have to be aware of it. I only know how to wield it by reading it from you."

The idea still disturbs Erik, but he places his hands on Charles's thighs and gazes at him steadily. «Do it again.»

Charles grins and opens his mind, letting Erik see how happy the invitation makes him, how much he understands the significance, how seriously he takes the responsibility to live up to Erik's show of faith. He assumes Erik's power, and everything metal in the room seems to snap into sharper relief. Charles spreads his hand over the buttons of Erik's jeans and feels through him how easily Erik can do this, each button twisting free of the fabric.

Their eyes meet again, and this time Erik shares his grin.

Charles knows all the traditional, propagandized reasons that humans hate and fear mutants-- some even understandable-- but he'll never accept it. Even when the mutants who have joined them have been frightened, angry, have lost control-- even when it's dangerous-- these abilities are so amazing, they demonstrate so much about the endless possibilities of the human race, they are so clearly the future. Someday, and Charles dearly hopes it will be soon, people will look back on these years of suppression and slavery in shame and disbelief.

He slides his hands up Erik's chest to the collar, his fingertips playing over the sleek evil surface of it. «I want this off you.»

Erik's voice is rough. "You can't imagine how many people thought touching that damned thing was the most erotic thing I'd had done to me in my life." His mind buzzes with a dozen thoughts at once, «never let them in not like this like today different when it's you when it's this when it's coming _off_ and I want it I do and fuck _why_ do I want this man so much, it had better just be about great goddamn sex...»

So much complexity in him, Charles could listen forever and never know more than a fraction of it, and the desire in him is fully equal to what he senses in Erik. "I meant it, I want..." The words thicken in his throat, but he needs to say them aloud. "I want _so much_ to take this off you. But only if you want me to. Only if you say."

*

Everything in this bed has been leading up to this moment-- everything in this house, everything since he met Charles, Erik can see that now. Last night was less about trust and more about feeling as though he'd been shoved into a corner, forced to make the least dangerous of a thousand dangerous decisions, but this morning Charles is more than just a would-be hero or a compelling fuck.

He knows already that he's going to say yes. The earnest intent on Charles's face, it's so pure and so bright: it could be sinister, could all be a lie, but Erik doesn't think so.

Maybe it would be easier if it were more like last night, all rough hands and barely-restrained fury, all that confusion and disorientation and the newness of having someone _like him_ , truly like him, not just powered but active and practiced and capable, on the other end of the affair. Maybe it would be easier if Charles _were_ hurting him, if they'd just gone straight for the fuck, if Charles were ripping into him and taking him apart piece by piece.

It's fitting, though, that today is different-- because the world is different, Erik's entire narrow part of it reformed and reshaped around Charles and his band of allies. There's nothing to do but move on, try and claim whatever he can from today. Stop fighting it, because if there's a battle to be fought later on, he'll need all his strength to do it, all the advantage he can get by playing nicely now.

 _Stop fighting it_ , he thinks, out in the open where Charles can hear it, _because you don't want to fight it right now._

He reaches up with both hands, curves his fingers gently over the planes of Charles's chest, lets them slide gently up and over his shoulders. The slight shudder of Charles's reaction reminds Erik of things he's felt from Charles before, places that got Charles to moan or writhe, and he moves one hand to the side of Charles's neck, rubs his thumb up and down the center of Charles's throat.

"Erik," Charles gasps, and Erik leans up, kissing him almost desperately, holding on as Charles's hands fly down and push at Erik's jeans, tugging, forcing Erik to arch and squirm underneath them so Charles can get rid of that last barrier between them. It takes his mouth away from Erik's, a loss Erik's not completely thrilled about, but when Charles has Erik's jeans off and tossed away, he comes back up from the foot of the bed, starting by pressing a hot kiss to the inside of Erik's thigh and exploring his way up Erik's hip, up to his waist.

Erik reaches down, fingers curling into Charles's hair; he could yank, could move Charles now, Charles is trusting him enough to let him take control here. Erik passes his fingers through Charles's hair again, considering it, really considering it as Charles runs the flat of his tongue down Erik's stomach, licks into his navel.

"Charles..."

Charles tilts his head up, smiles up the bed at Erik. "Yes," he murmurs. "Your pace, Erik. Whatever that pace is."

It's such an open invitation Erik can't possibly _not_ take advantage of it. He sits up, urges Charles over with a twist of his hips and his legs, and they crawl together on the bed, Erik sliding down, Charles moving up, until Erik's got Charles right where he wants him, on his back so Erik can slide a thigh over Charles's legs and duck his head down to explore Charles's neck.

Thoughts from Charles break through immediately: «Yes, that's-- yes,» encouragement enough to make Erik rub both sides of his face against Charles's apparently-sensitive skin. Charles groans and tries to shift his legs, works to get Erik between them; Erik is in no way reluctant to go. He eases Charles's legs apart with his own, and once he's there, once Charles has him locked between his thighs, Charles slides his hands down Erik's back. They settle in a spot that makes Charles emit a pleased, satisfied sound-- there at the upper curve of Erik's ass? really?-- but Charles only laughs at him, sends him an image of dimples beneath Charles's hands, a thought full of attraction and-- affection, maybe, and if this was all there were to them, if there were no collar and no hiding and no Shaw, out there, hurting others, maybe Erik could return that affection. Here, though, it's too soon for that. Much too soon.

Erik focuses on Charles's neck again, biting gently and then licking, licking up and down and then sucking. Charles presses his hands hard against Erik's ass; trapped he might be, but he's holding Erik down, too-- neither one of them is coming away from this encounter with a definite advantage. But when Erik bites down a little harder, Charles groans and rocks up, cock sliding up against Erik's with some urgency.

It takes some effort to form words in his mind after that, but it's easier than forming them out loud. «Is that how you want it?» He gives Charles another bite, the same spot as the last time, the same pressure. «Or do you want to _show_ me how to do it.»

A garbled image comes through: viewpoint from flat on his back on the bed, looking up at the ceiling, tilting his head to the side to get more, hot pressure sending his arousal spiralling up and up and up, getting more intense with every heated breath Charles feels against his skin, every slow lick Erik gives him. «I don't think you need any help.»

Erik grinds his hips down, gasping as the sensation leaks through from Charles's side of it. There's a thrill to it, a recognition of Erik's strength that is... honestly, a bit flattering, and there's a hunger for more, Erik's mouth, Erik's cock, all of it, everything at once. Charles twists his neck to the side, gives Erik more access, and Erik smiles against Charles's skin, a smile so broad Charles could feel it even if he couldn't sense it.

«I didn't mean images, Charles.» He nibbles down the side of Charles's neck, all the way down to Charles's shoulder while Charles shudders beneath him. «Do it, Charles. Take me over and make me taste you.» He lifts his head and looks into Charles's eyes, grinning. "Or can't you? You held me still well enough, but that was before I started--" He draws a fingernail down the side of Charles's neck, watches as Charles's eyelashes flutter closed for a moment before he composes himself and looks up at Erik again.

"You," Charles pants, "are you _daring_ me?" He sounds delighted by the very idea, and Erik can't resist smiling back at him. But before he can do more than smile, before he can banter back at Charles or curve his whole hand around Charles's neck, he finds himself bending his head down instead, nuzzling with the edge of his jaw pressed against Charles's throat.

He licks at Charles's skin, but it's slower, a tease instead of a rush for the edge. «Of course I can,» Charles thinks, and Erik can hear the rumbling purr of it in his head. It's turning him on, directing Erik this way is turning Charles on, and Erik is panting inside, straining against Charles's hold because it's not _enough_ , suddenly, it isn't deep enough or severe enough, or maybe it's only that he wants to rock against Charles's body until he gets off and Charles isn't allowing him to do it.

Charles hitches in a breath underneath Erik, desperately shoving up now; he lets Erik in, lets Erik see that it's more than just the physical sensations, more than just what Erik's doing to his neck.

Erik's desire for more, his greedy sense that what Charles is doing to him isn't quite enough-- through Charles's eyes, it's heady, incredible, «a lover wanting more instead of telling me no, no, never.» Whether that's what they are to each other or not-- a night and a day of frantic sex, is that all it takes to be _lovers_ where Charles is concerned?-- Erik can't deny that he _does_ want this from Charles, all of it, the breathtaking scope of his power and the risk involved; the knowledge that Charles is bending Erik's will to his own, but that Erik _asked_ it of him.

«I want,» Erik sings out, his teeth biting down on Charles's shoulder, « _want_ , Charles,» and Charles clutches at his ass and arches up and Erik can feel, in his head, in his body, how close Charles is to completely losing it. Charles tightens Erik's teeth on his shoulder until he cries out, and then Erik's free, the pressure there only because he hasn't yet let go, all his motions under his own control again.

"You, _yes_ , this," Charles pants, and his mind comes crashing against Erik's, the velvet finesse tattered, «no words, no words.»

There are none for Erik, either, only a frantic need to do more, give more, take more. He's full of wants: driving into Charles now, filling Charles until he's breathless and begging; crawling up Charles's body, spreading his legs, sinking down on Charles's cock and riding him until the sweat drips off Erik's body and mingles with Charles's; giving something up, sharing something--

Charles's eyes come open as Erik makes the decision, and Erik grabs for Charles's hand, puts Charles's fingers against the collar. "Now," Erik growls down at him. "Now. Do it now."

" _Yes_ \--" Charles reaches up and cups the side of Erik's head in his hand, his fingertips against Erik's temple. His other hand comes up, fingertips slipping underneath the collar this one last time, and Erik moans and drives his cock against Charles's thigh as Charles tugs at that fucking piece of metal.

They go in together, Erik's expertise guiding Charles's mind, and when they reach the first of the release failsafes, Erik turns the image over and over for Charles to see. This is the easiest one of the three, the one that requires the least amount of concern, and when Charles eases into it and holds the contacts apart as he twists the failsafe around, frees up space for the latch to open later, Erik breathes a little easier.

«You're good.»

«Thank you,» Charles thinks. Erik can feel how giddy Charles is, how much he wants to do it again. «May I...?»

«Yes, this one now. Here...»

Once again, Erik winds Charles's awareness around the failsafe, this one on the other side of the latch. It's trickier, wired to something that would put Erik at risk of electrocution if Erik hadn't already deactivated it. But this time Erik has more reason to trust Charles with the use of his power, and Charles proves worthy. The failsafe clicks apart as if given the electronic passcode, and now there's only the latch itself to work. That's a simple but delicate mechanical part, and Charles eases it open as though he'd been born with Erik's power.

And then the collar opens, falling into Charles's hand.

Charles makes a hot, startled noise and tosses it aside, blistering Erik with his words-- «gone, free, _yes_ ,» and then he's lunging up, biting at Erik's neck the way he promised last night, his teeth scraping Erik's skin raw. Erik's every breath is a call for more, and Charles meets and surpasses it, his own wants a perfect match for Erik's. The collar's never felt too heavy to be comfortable, its design a masterful piece of art as well as a horrific device of threat and control, but the open air on Erik's skin is intoxicating-- or Charles's lips and tongue and teeth are, the sucking pressure of Charles drawing Erik's skin into his mouth, the ache and sting of bite after bite after bite.

Erik thrusts against Charles's thigh again, no way to possibly resist, but the friction's too much, he's too ready, and he struggles against Charles's grip on him, trying to pull back. "Can't, going to, _close_ \--" «not yet,» he thinks desperately, «not yet, can you stop me--»

In answer, Charles thrusts a hand between them, catching Erik's cock and his own in his hand, the movements jagged and awkward and clumsy and _utterly fucking perfect_. Erik throws his head back, gasping, and he's going over even as Charles throws him the thoughts: «Want that, but I want you more like this, always next time, give me this now, _this_.»

He can't stop, _can't_ , it's too good, and though he does his best to strangle the sound in his throat-- there are other people here, more attention is not what he needs-- his thoughts must be all too obvious to Charles, blinding in their intensity. «Next time. _Next time._ Yes--»

His sound hasn't even faded, the spasms haven't stopped rocking him, but his hand comes off the mattress anyway. It takes a split-second of motion before he realizes that the movement wasn't his idea. But his hand's going between them, too, skirting past the mess he left on Charles's belly to caress just beneath Charles's balls, his fingers pressing tightly in while Charles fists his own cock and rubs the head against the flat of Erik's hip. Charles's mind lights Erik's on fire with the «yesyesyesyes» he lets out at his climax, and Erik drops his head against Charles's shoulder, swallowing desperately for air.

Charles throws an arm around Erik's shoulders and clings, and Erik doesn't even consider stopping him. He presses his face against Charles's cheek, kisses the place just under his ear again.

"God," Erik mutters. "You are _dangerous_." He's not sure whether he means it as compliment or censure.

Snorting out a soft laugh, Charles offers up a kiss of his own; it lands on the side of Erik's head, sloppy and uncoordinated, but Erik can certainly forgive him for that.

"I can be," Charles answers. "I'm also on your side."

Erik's embrace is huge, almost desperate with the need to hold onto this connection. He keeps his arms around Charles as long as he can justify it to himself, and then draws away, reaching down and brushing the backs of his fingers against Charles's cheek.

 _Really superbly fucked,_ Erik can't help thinking, but all he says is, "Well. We'll see."


End file.
